Sherlock and Moriarty
by fabouluz122
Summary: Sherlock detoxes, and hunts down Moriarty.


Moriarty Returns (one shot)

Watson sat at Sherlock's bedside. Her hand slipped awkwardly into his limp hand, but she pulled away when she heard the recognisable voices of Gregson and Bell.

'How's he doin'?' asked Gregson.

Gregson and Bell stood at the foot of the bed.

'He will need to detox pretty fast once he wakes up.'

'Will he wake-up?' Bell asked wearily.

'I didn't see how much they injected him with.'

'They?' Bell looked confused.

Gregson handed Joan a manila file.

'Someone did this to him: we checked the apartment like you asked us to. We found nothing to pin it to anyone, but a black business card, it was blank.'

'Hold on. Who would target Sherlock?' Bell asked.

Gregson sighed and walked to Sherlock's side, opposite Watson. He lifted Sherlock's upper-arm, he was checking for something.

'What is it?' Watson asked.

Gregson felt a letter inside Sherlock's upper arm. It was un-noticeable to the naked eye, you had to know it was there to see it.

''M' He said.

Joan rushed to his side and saw the branding scar.

'It looks old.'

'It is. During my 4 year placement at Scotland Yard, Sherlock worked closely with their homicide crew. A criminal that worked alone was harassing Sherlock. He still managed to kill up to fifty people. Sherlock was desperate to catch him, always looking at cold cases related to this anonymous criminal.'

'What happened?'

'This lunatic killer realised he was the focus of Sherlock's attention, and he lapped it up. He started paying attention to Sherlock and sending threats. I don't know if they ever met, I didn't know Sherlock well enough at the time. I don't think anyone did, but he never accepted any help.'

'What has the 'M' got to do with it?'

'Sherlock was, probably still is, the smartest man at Scotland Yard. He found out this particular killers name. Moriarty. Catchy huh? He told everyone who would listen, including me, how it was a break-through. It was. To know a name is the first step, we all know this in Law Enforcement.'

'So what, Sherlock branded M on himself to remember the occasion?' Bell seemed un-impressed.

'Moriarty did it. Caught him at home. Sherlock didn't tell anyone until three months later.'

'Why keep it a secret? His home would be a crime scene, find vital clues.' Bell pondered.

'Sherlock would have done that himself, more intricately than any forensic probably.' Joan added.

Gregson agreed.

'He did. Turned the apartment over and over for any set of prints or fragment of skin, hair, anything, but nothing.'

'What's the file?' Joan asked. Picking it up.

'We got prints from the card. The London database picked up nothing, but we did. Whoever left it wasn't Moriarty. We're picking the guy up. If this Moriarty is a criminal mastermind our investigation won't be going far fast. He most likely had nothing to do with what happened to Sherlock.'

Bell and Gregson's phones beeped.

'We should get back.' Bell looked at Gregson.

'I'll come by later, see if he's awake.' Gregson added hesitantly.

'I don't think you will want to see a grown man go through detox detective.' Joan warned.

Gregson and Bell walked out the room, and Joan sat back down. She rubbed Sherlock's arm softly.

'I'll be back later.' She told him.

Eight hours later. Joan had gone back to the Brownstone and rested. When she got back to see Sherlock he was wide-awake. He threw a chair out of his hospital room in a rage. Joan dodged it quickly.

'Watson! Tell them not to give me anything!' Sherlock shouted.

Two female nurses wanting to drug him to help him through his detox were tormenting Sherlock; the irony was lost on them both.

'Excuse me, can you leave us two alone?'

'He needs to take the pills.' One nurse argued.

'Actually he doesn't. Going through detox without the aid of medicine has been proven to help the rehabilitation process. He will just crave those pills instead of heroin.' Joan smiled sarcastically.

The nurse's left, Sherlock crawled onto the bed where he was drowning in a cold sweat, bouts of vomiting and excruciating pain all over his body.

'It's going to be hard, you'll just have to deal with it.'

'Tough love, as always Watson.' Sherlock retorted.

'Focus on your breathing.'

Joan helped him to lie flat on the bed.

'I heard everything before you know. I heard what Gregson said to you.'

'I know.' Watson replied softly.

'I know you knew I could hear. Don't you want to ask me anything?'

Joan looked down at Sherlock. His face had turned grey and his eyes were red. Joan left, to the dismay of Sherlock, but came back with the chair. She sat by his side as he turned on his side to face her.

'You can tell me what you want to tell me. Those are the rules we established, remember?' Joan said.

'He took me to an empty warehouse were they used to cut tobacco leaves in London. He tortured me; well his minions did, then at the very end Moriarty appeared with a cattle brander in one hand, the embers sparking from the tip. He branded me, so I would always remember him even if I gave up trying to catch him.'

'If you know what he looks like why can't they find him?' Joan asked.

'He doesn't exist anywhere. No identification means no records, nothing to begin a search with. After a while people at Scotland Yard stopped caring about catching him, and then forgot. He went away for a while after he kidnapped me. It's a game of patience with him. I am the only one who is on a par with his mind.'

'Now he is in New York City. A criminal mastermind must have a lot of friends who are well known to the NYPD.' Joan wondered.

'Don't forget enemies Watson.'

'They've got prints on the card Moriarty left behind. Bell is checking it out.'

'Good.'

Sherlock winced in pain.

'You don't have to stay with me.' He said.

'I can help you through this. I want to be here for you Sherlock.'

'Thank you.'

Sherlock tossed onto his back as Joan took off her bag and jacket.


End file.
